


Devil's Due

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, Deal With the Devil, F/M, Golden Lace, moodboard prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 18:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: Years ago, Lacey made a deal. Now, at the height of her fame, he comes to collect. Lacey, though, is canny, and she’s ready for whatever he might ask of her in return for his magic.Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling moodboard prompt, availablehere.





	Devil's Due

Lacey’s expecting him when he arrives at the same time as her breakfast. She’s been counting the days, because it would never do to be caught unawares when dealing with the likes of him. Despite everything that’s happened in her favour over the last five years, Lacey is genre-savvy enough not to be complacent.

So, he doesn’t catch her unawares when he slips into her bedroom behind the maid bringing coffee and croissants. She gives him a nod of acknowledgement. Calm and collected; although there’s that same frisson of fear that she felt the first time they met, it’s more a knee-jerk reaction to what he is than to what he may ask of her.

The maid leaves, not registering the appearance of another person in the room. She wouldn’t, of course. He made it clear last time that only Lacey would be able to see him.

“You’re not surprised.” He sounds surprised himself. Surprised, and something else. Lacey would say something along the lines of elation. He’s actually happy that she’s not surprised.

“Naturally. It’s five years to the day. I knew that you’d come to collect.”

He smiles, and it’s such a dangerous smile, but such a thrilling one too. He looks different to the first time they met. He’s wearing a sharp suit, exquisitely fitted around his slim frame. The crutch from last time has been replaced by an elegant cane, and the missing tooth now glitters gold. As her fortunes have increased, so have his, it seems. Or maybe this is just his way, altering his appearance to suit the circumstances. Back when she’d been undiscovered, singing in clubs for a pittance and sleeping in a different bed every night, no fixed abode, he had mirrored her hunger. Now she is sated and successful and he mirrors her comfort.

Lacey remembers their first meeting, in the alley outside the club. It is three o’clock in the morning, and Lacey is lighting her first cigarette of the night. The tips have been poor lately and she’ll have to make this pack last. He comes out of nowhere, offering her a match when her lighter doesn’t work. She’s certain she checked the alley for lurkers when she first came out. It’s as if he’s stepped out of the darkness itself. She just stares at him, both of them watching the match flame burn down to his fingers. He doesn’t throw it down until it goes out completely, and when he lights the next, his skin, although grubby, is unburned. That’s when Lacey knows what he is.

_“I can make you famous,”_, he whispers, breath smelling faintly of sulphur, or does she imagine that? From any other hobo on the streets it would be a pathetic line, but when the third match has burned down and Lacey has finally lit her cigarette and taken a long, calming drag, she knows that he could and would make good on his words.

_“Can you, now?”_ She tries to play it cool and uninterested, but that hunger for success has already burst into life again and is champing at the bit to be let out to play and to devour whatever he might offer. _“And what would be the price?”_

She knows the story. A classic tale reworked so many times over that it’s become part of the collective psyche. At the end of your rope, someone offers your hopes and dreams on a plate. But no-one gets something for nothing; soon you’ll get your backside bitten if you don’t follow the rules.

_“Just say the word, dearie, and fame and fortune could be yours.”_

_“And what would be the price?”_ Lacey repeats. _“My soul?”_

He laughs, a high-pitched, twittering giggle. _“Oh no. That’s just crass. Souls fell out of fashion years ago. We live in a materialistic world, after all. Everyone needs _things._”_

_“In that case, first-born child is traditional, isn’t it?”_

He shakes his head. _“Far too risky an investment. What if you never reproduce? Immaculate conception is the other side’s domain.”_

_“So, what then? There’s no such thing as a free lunch, or a free foot in the door. Especially not in Hollywood.”_

_“Let’s just say that you’ll owe me a favour.”_

Lacey’s savvy. She knows that she’s better off walking away. But savvy won’t keep her alive if she can’t buy bread and the hunger for food, fame and fortune is gnawing at her insides.

_“Then let’s make a deal.”_

The terms are agreed, and he says he’ll return in five years. Lacey begins her countdown. She may have given in to temptation, but she can still be sharp.

And here he is, five years later, calmly standing in her bedroom doorway. She beckons him closer and offers a croissant, as if she has any power in this exchange. Still, he accepts, perching on the edge of her bed and taking a bite of flaky pastry.

“Time’s been kind to you,” she says.

“Even kinder to you. Breakfast in bed. It’s a far cry from singing for your supper, isn’t it?”

“I can’t complain. So, your favour.”

He tuts. “All business and no small talk. Such a shame. I wanted to hear all about your next role. And all the gossip from the Oscars, of course. You looked truly ravishing, my dear.”

“Thank you.” She’s determined not to be lulled into a false sense of security. He would not be here unless he wanted something. She must keep that in the forefront of her mind. She’s known it for five years, so she can’t afford to let her guard down now at this final moment.

“You’re right though.” He’s changed tack again, making Lacey’s head spin with all his different directions, determined to follow him to the bitter end and never lose her way. “You’ve never once complained about the pressures of fame, about its burdens. That’s what I like about you, Lacey. You’ve never taken my gifts for granted.”

“God giveth, and God taketh away.” She smirks at his raised eyebrow. “Or the other side, of course.”

“That’s more like it, dearie.” He leans in a little closer now that he’s finished eating. “There’s something else I’ve noticed.”

“Oh yes? And what might that be?” Although Lacey is enjoying their banter, a small part of her wants to cut to the chase. She’s been anticipating this day for the last five years and the suspense is killing her.

“You’ve never been linked with another name. A beautiful young talent like you, I would have thought that every red top journalist under the sun would have given their right arm for the hot gossip on Lacey French’s latest beau. Or belle, if you’re that way inclined.”

It’s true. She hasn’t been in any kind of relationship since the day she made the deal, not that the ones she’d been in before had anything close to meaning in them. She tells herself again that this is the result of being prepared. The fewer people she has attached to her, the less chance there is of someone she loves being caught in the crossfire when he comes to collect.

Deep down, though, she knows that the real reason is far darker, far less noble than the one she would choose to give him. She knows that he knows it too, and that there would be little point to her sanctimonious lie.

For all that he has changed in appearance since the last time they met, one thing remains the same. His eyes are unchanged. They’re still the dark and deceptively dangerous eyes he had before. One might call them soulless in their depths: indeed, Lacey wrote him off as soulless five years ago.

Today though, the light is better, mid-morning compared to the small hours of the night. Lacey can see that those dark, dark eyes are far from soulless. They’re so deep that they’re eternal, full of secrets as old as time itself, and older than that again. There’s history in his eyes, the full spectrum of human emotion on a worldwide scale that Lacey could never hope to emulate. He’s not unfeeling. He _is_ feeling, in the most literal sense of the word, all those base, animalistic feelings deemed sinful brought into one embodiment. As that realisation sinks in, Lacey knows and fully accepts the reason for her five years’ detachment from others of her human race. The only man, if he can be called such, who has ever sparked her interest, is sitting in front of her now.

“My price,” he says presently, bringing her back to reality.

“Of course.”

“A kiss.”

“What?” At first she thinks she hasn’t heard him correctly. After all, he was the one who stressed the importance of _things_ at their last meeting.

“Do you disagree to my terms?” There’s ice in his smooth voice. Just a little, but it still chills her through, nonetheless.

“Not at all.” She hastens to correct the misunderstanding. “It just seems something so small and insignificant in comparison to the gift given.”

“Ah, dearie, it’s for me to decide what is and isn’t worth the price. A kiss from you would be very precious indeed.”

Lacey wonders, because there’s got to be more to it than that. If that was his price, why not take it there and then in the alley? She’s certainly done worse in alleys in her time. Just what will she be giving away if she gives him this simple thing? A kiss in exchange for all that he has given her – fame, fortune, wealth, comfort, security…

Lacey brings her hand to his face, her fingers cupping his cheek gently. He’s warm to the touch, unnaturally so. If he were a normal man, she’d say he had a fever, but she knows better. His eyes never falter from her face, but he remains silent and his hands stay clasped in his lap, neither encouraging nor dissuading, leaving her to settle the score on her own terms.

His lips are scalding as Lacey presses her mouth against his. It’s not a chaste, Hollywood kiss. If Lacey’s going for this, then she’s going for it wholeheartedly. She won’t be accused of not making an effort.

He’s surprisingly soft and pliant and his lips part eagerly under the pressure from her tongue. His hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, but his touch is light; she feels no urge to fight it.

She expected him to taste sulphurous, like the vague scent that she can sometimes pick up in his vicinity, or maybe it’s just her imagination. He doesn’t. He tastes of apples, pomegranates, the forbidden fruits that lead to darker depths.

Lacey knows then, as she closes her eyes and sinks down into his embrace. Oh, he was clever when he said that he did not want her soul. Even if it was not his prize, he has ensnared her, nonetheless. She thinks of her next project, _Pride and Prejudice,_ filming to start in two weeks.

_You have bewitched me; body and soul_.

Her soul is his now, whether he wants it or not. With this single kiss, the culmination of five years of intrigue and wondering, he’s ruined her for any other man who might cross her path. He was the only one she wanted before, and now she knows that she will never want another.

There’s lust and passion and excitement and desire in his eyes when they break away, a perfect mirror for her own thoughts and emotions. He smiles his dangerous smile, sated, his price collected, and he gets up to leave. Lacey knows that he would always leave her wanting more, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know it. He already knows it. He already knows everything.

“Will I be seeing you again?” she asks, affecting an unconcerned tone.

His grin is wicked as he pauses by the door.

“As you wish, Miss French.”


End file.
